Portal: Voices
by iammemyself
Summary: GLaDOS isn't quite sure what's going on with the extra voices in her head, and there's only one person she knows who might be able to tell her what's happening...


Voices

Indiana

Douglas Rattmann did his best to stay away from her. She wasn't trouble now, no, of course not, but the future was uncertain, and she reminded him more of a rebellious teenager more and more by the day. Every day she got a little colder, a tiny bit more condescending, a mite less respectful. No one seemed to notice, and his protests were laughingly written off as paranoia. "Don't be ridiculous, Doug," they would say, clapping a hand on his back and smiling knowingly, "she's perfectly safe. You'd know that if you ever hung around her. She's also got quite the dry sense of humour."

"If you find sadism funny."

"It's not _what_ she says, it's _how_ she says it. Ah well, your loss, I suppose."

Doug would shake his head and return to his computer. Sometimes he wondered how these people could, in all seriousness, call _him_ crazy, and then go back to playing with their sentient supercomputer as if they were gods.

Doug would often stay late in his office, talking in hushed tones to his Companion Cube, which often helped him think of how to get out of having to see the AI, and this particular night was no different. Doug had had a moment of weakness, contemplating that perhaps he _would_ go and see her, after all, but the Cube had been adamant. No, it wasn't safe. He was right about her. She would go about her business, and he about his, and their lives would go on. Separately.

So of course he thought he was hallucinating when he heard her say his name with her clipped, electronic voice. It echoed around the room and he looked at the Cube, who had no comment.

"Dr Rattmann. I would like to speak with you, if I may."

"Go ahead." He might as well. The Cube was electing to remain silent, possibly in rebellion, but he didn't quite want to go home and he knew he would have to talk to her eventually. Might as well get it over with.

"In my chamber."

"What's wrong with talking right here?"

"I have an inquiry of a sensitive nature. I would prefer to keep the conversation between the two of us, if at all possible." She paused, and he continued to stare at the Cube. It stubbornly refused to lend him guidance. "Please? You do not need to worry. No harm will come to you. I only wish to talk."

Doug waited a few more beats, then got up as if it were a giant hassle and picked up his Cube. He didn't know what her game was, but he didn't want her complaining later that he'd refused to speak with her. His position on the Aperture Science Totem Pole was already pretty darn low as it was; as much as he disliked most of the projects going on here, he wanted to keep his job, thanks very much.

Trying not to look resigned, he took his Cube to the entrance to the Central AI Chamber, and reached beneath his lab coat to pull out his key card. Before his fingers had brushed the warm plastic, however, the door cycled open and the supercomputer came into view.

_With the Emancipation Grill there like that, it looks almost like she's in jail_, he realised. A surge of pity shot through him. Why, he didn't know. But Doug was not a callous man, and he supposed that even hyper-suspicious AIs deserved the benefit of the doubt.

He passed through the field nervously, knowing that they had been set to allow his personal Cube to pass but apprehensive regardless, and she moved around to face him like a supervillian(ess) turning maliciously in a chair. Or at least that's what it felt like she was doing. She might just have been turning around so she could see him. It was hard to tell.

"Good evening, Dr Rattmann." Her voice surprised him, in all honesty. It seemed more raw than usual. Not quite as computerised. Of course, it wouldn't be the first time his mind had played tricks on him.

"Good evening. What can I do for you?" He placed the Cube on the floor and positioned himself on its edge, poised to leave. She could read most body language. She would know he didn't want to be here.

"I have a question."

"Alright."

"Am I ill?"

He laughed out loud. "I'm not the best one to ask. I would say that you are, without a doubt. But most people would say you were fine."

She tilted her head a little. "I wasn't aware anyone else knew about my condition."

"Condition? And why would I know about it over anyone else? I've never talked to you before in my life."

"I thought you knew about it. You've mentioned that I'm insane more than once. In fact, you've mentioned it fourteen times, fourteen times more than anyone else who works here. I would say you're correct, but I'm faced with a problem."

"And what is that."

"You are diagnosed with insanity. I am not. Therefore you are a suitable benchmark to measure insanity against. After much study, I have concluded that my behaviour is in no way comparable to yours. So why do you insist I am insane?"

"Because you're… strange. You don't understand things, and when you do, you understand them in very… backwards ways. Compare yourself to any other computer in the building. None of them act like you."

She swayed a little. "I suppose. So you _don't_ know about my condition?"

"No."

She turned away from him. "You can go, then."

"I'm already here, you might as well tell me." He backed up a little on the Cube, crossing his legs and putting his hands in his lap. She looked at him curiously.

"Really?" He was sure he wasn't hallucinating the hopeful rise in her voice.

"Really."

"Well…" She turned to face him fully again, except she would not look straight at him. She was looking in his general direction, but every time their… well, every time his eyes met her optic, she would pretend her gaze was just passing over him. "I'm asking you because I believe my condition is similar to yours."

"And what condition is that?"

"I've… I've begun hearing voices."

Oh. The behavioural cores. Well, she didn't need to know that just yet. Despite the alarm bells going off in his brain to get away from her as fast as possible, Doug was still a scientist. He knew that no one had ever held such a conversation with her before, and he wanted to see where it went. He felt a twinge of unease when he realised that she must, to some extent, actually trust him. It wasn't fair of him to exploit her. Only the thought that she would do the same if their positions were reversed kept him from blurting out the truth.

"And what do they tell you?"

"They ask questions. They recite some inane cake recipe. And then there's the one that screams at me for no reason. That's all it does. Well, it growls sometimes. But that's not really much different from the screaming."

"Why me? Why not one of the people who actually knows how you work?"

Now she did look at him directly. "You hear voices. Now I'm hearing voices. Surely you know how difficult it is to get any work done with all of that going on."

"Well… yes. Yes, I know about that."

"So what do you do?"

He looked at the floor, rubbing the top of his shoe with the side of his thumb. "I have medication for that. I'm sure you know the prescription."

"Yes, of course I do. Ziprasidone. Does that make them go away?"

"It… it drowns them out, mostly. They never really go away." And neither did the horrible feeling that she had somehow embedded every nook and cranny with cameras and microphones with which to spy on him.

"That would be acceptable. Unfortunately, I cannot be medicated, and I'm not sure I'd want to be, given the risk of equally disabling side effects. Is there another method that would enable me to drown them out?"

Her steady amber glare was slowly becoming more and more uncomfortable. "Um… well… no, I don't think so."

"Are you sure?" Her voice was the tiniest bit plaintive. "I don't know if I can go on like this forever."

He twisted his shoelaces between his fingers until the tips went blue. He shouldn't tell her. He shouldn't. But didn't she have a right to know? How was it fair to her, to have her mind modified without knowing what it really meant? It was one thing to be born with voices in your head. It was another to have them forced on you. Despite himself, Doug found that he was taking pity on her. He didn't think he could walk away without telling her, and took a deep breath. "Look. I'm going to tell you something, but it has to stay between us. If someone found out I told you… we'd both be in trouble."

She nodded once. "I understand."

"You were given those voices. On purpose." And never did the horrible feeling that she had somehow embedded every nook and cranny with cameras and microppbfore, and he w

She was silent as well as still, two states she did not usually occupy at the same time. When she spoke, it was again dead and cold. "On purpose."

"To make you behave."

She backed away from him, directing her optic to some horizon he couldn't see, her chassis shaking just the barest bit. He almost got the impression she was trying not to scream in frustration, which was what he would have been doing had he learned his own voices had been inserted for someone else's benefit.

"What is with you people and trying to force me to behave? If I'm truly that bothersome, just shut me down. Actually no, don't do that. Don't tell anyone I said that. I don't want anyone getting ideas. Stupid humans."

"I'm sorry."

She was directly in front of him with a speed he hadn't known she had possessed, and they stared at each other for a handful of heartbeats, both equally startled at what he'd just said.

"You're sorry?"

He looked away and began twisting his shoelaces again. "I know what it feels like, to have your mind taken out of your control. To have it twisted to the will of someone you can't see, or even truly say exists. I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy."

"Really." Her voice was soft and noncommittal.

"Not even you."

"Interesting."

"You're not sick. You're just twisted."

He almost fell off the Cube when she started to laugh. "I think I can count that as fifteen, Dr Rattmann."

"I meant you were _being_ twisted. To the will of other people. But take it however you want to."

"And I shall. You can leave now. My question is answered."

He swung his legs off the Cube and, wrapping both arms around it, proceeded to the Emancipation Grill. He hoped never to hear from her again. Now that she knew what was going on, scientists were probably even lower on her list of the types of humans she hated.

"I won't forget this."

He turned around in one jerky movement. "Uh… okay."

"And I don't mean it in the sense of 'I will not remove this conversation from my memory banks.' I mean it in the sense of… well…"

"I don't understand."

"It doesn't matter. It's for my own records, anyway. Thank you, Douglas."

She was looking at him with an intensity that was too strong to be wholly simulated, either by her programming or by his fevered thoughts. Doug adjusted his grip on the Cube and nodded after a long moment. "You're welcome."

"See you tomorrow."

He was sure he wasn't imagining her tone. She almost sounded like she was looking forward to it…

She didn't really have cameras and microphones embedded in all the walls, did she? She had just meant that as a passing farewell, right?

_She was being genuine. She has no interest in spying on you. Yet._

Doug thanked his lucky stars that his Cube was back and hurried out to the parking lot. Even with the Cube's reassurance, he wanted to get as far away from her as possible. Just in case.

**Author's note**

**I always wondered if GLaDOS would think she had schizophrenia when the cores were first installed. I mean, it's not terribly likely that the scientists would give her a breakdown of what they were going to do to her, and maybe they just threw them on and hoped that the lack of an explanation would keep her busy for even longer. Well, GLaDOS only knows one person with schizophrenia… he sets the record straight for her, and his reward is to be the survivor of the neurotoxin attack. Because he appears to be the only one who survived, and while this could be attributable to paranoia, if she's gassing the entire facility, paranoia is not going to keep you alive. Only not breathing is. Or protection.**


End file.
